The Veil
by Aletta-Feather
Summary: Short one shot about Brienne, Jaime and Cersei. Follows the conversation where Cersei interrogates Brienne.


The Veil 

_Brienne_

"Did you just bow?" she had asked with a smirk on her face. Brienne had told her she never did manage the curtsy. A little while later, Cersei had sought her out to thank her, though in hindsight that may not have been her true purpose. The Queen-Mother seemed to think she had sworn herself to Ser Jaime.

"I don't serve your brother, Your Grace," she had said, explaining her position.

"But you love him," she had replied. Cersei didn't blink as her gaze bore into her own. Brienne had been stunned. It was as if her words drew back a veil. Opened a window. Brienne hadn't known what to say – nor what to think. She'd finally replied: "Your Grace," before she bowed once more and turned away from her. Brienne noticed Jaime looking at them as she took her leave; his eyes were narrowed.

A few days later, he sought her out. His son had been murdered. Lady Sansa had disappeared. His brother had been thrown into prison and was currently awaiting his trial. They took a stroll through the lovely gardens but Brienne could see he didn't drink in any of the beauty that surrounded them. After she'd tried – and failed – to start a conversation a few times, she resigned herself to silence instead. Perhaps he didn't feel like talking. He did not say much, not until the end of the gardens was in sight.  
"I nearly forgot," he said. "What did my sister say to you? I've been meaning to ask."

Brienne blushed. "She did not tell you herself?" she inquired, "I thought she might."

"Joffry," he said with a smothered voice. "Her mind is on other things now. On revenge mostly." He sighed deeply. "It is as if I'm losing both my siblings at once," he muttered. "And then there's this..." He raised his stump. Jaime was wearing his new golden hand. It oddly suited him, though Brienne privately felt there was no need. It was beautiful yet also useless ornament.

 _Jaime_

Cersei had told him: "no." He had been too angry to really notice, nor care. The look on her face, the harsh words she had spoken – "You took too long" – they all pointed to one thing. He wasn't good enough for her anymore. Was it the loss of his hand? Or the way he didn't wish to be her pawn any longer? She had always commanded him to do things and he had always obeyed. No more, Jaime had decided. You will rule me no more. And so he had disregarded her pleas. Her sudden fear for the wrath of the gods. Cersei had never cared about the gods before; why should she care now?

He had wanted her so bad. He had longed for her for far too long. She did not want his caresses. Not until she'd had the hand fashioned for him, could she even bear to look at him. It had angered him beyond belief – it had hurt him just as much. And even with the hand she was reluctant to give in to him. Jaime wanted her. He also wanted to punish her. When she told him not to, he decided – for once – to disregard her commands. Her authority. To be in command for a change.

Afterwards, she hadn't spoken of it. Neither had he. Yet the foul looks she kept giving him told him enough. She would not easily forgive. Had she ever forgiven anyone? Jaime wasn't too sure about it. All of his life had been about her. From the moment he'd been born. They were tied together like… and yet the bonds were beginning to tear; the ties were smothering him yet he couldn't imagine living without them either.

"Cersei told me nothing," he said to Brienne. "So perhaps you might." He noticed that she was blushing. She stammered and looked away. Jaime began to feel uncomfortable. What had she said to Brienne?

"She said she had me to thank for your safety and I said you saved me too. She thought I had sworn to you, like I had to Renly," Brienne told him. "I told her that wasn't the case. And then she said," Brienne hesitated and paused. She took a deep breath before she finally told him: "She said – it wasn't even a question – she said that I… That I loved you."

Jaime swallowed hard. "I don't serve your brother, Your Grace," I said, Brienne continued, "and she replied: 'but you love him.'"

"What did you say to that?" he whispered, unsure if he was prepared for the answer.

"I didn't know what to say," Brienne said. "It sounded like a statement. Like an accusation even. And it was like…. It sort of made me realize, that perhaps..." Her voice trailed off.

"Yes?" he asked. "What did you realize?"

Brienne seemed to force herself to look at him. Her blue eyes were sad, he saw, expecting rejection.

"I realized she was right," she mumbled. "It was Cersei who opened my eyes when she spoke those words aloud. We've, you and I – well, I have, at least ; I shouldn't presume to speak for you – we've sort of grown towards each other. In various ways, I mean. In understanding and respect."

He nodded. "We have," he said simply. "I respect you greatly, Brienne," he briefly hesitated himself, "and in doing so I've begun to realize how Cersei and I…. That there wasn't much respect between us; that there certainly isn't anymore; not now. Not with me like this." He laughed, long and bitterly.

"Ser Jaime," she said, earnest as always, "I got the distinct impression that she does not want me here."

"I think you may be right," Jaime said. "Perhaps you shouldn't linger here for too long." He was a coward, he thought, as he hadn't answered her unspoken question. Brienne didn't push him on it. She wouldn't.

And so he sent her on a mission. Carrying his sword, his armor, his blessings. Also his – still unspoken – love.


End file.
